


Their story is in every bullet fired down the barrels of their guns.

by Kaesteranya



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is this...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their story is in every bullet fired down the barrels of their guns.

Beyond that fateful mission in the forests of Russia, their relationship was built on encounters in the various shooting ranges of their lives. Whether it was in a military base with paper targets and mufflers or in some overgrown yard with tin cans and the glaring brilliance of the sun, it was only when they were killing things or shooting at stuff did the both of them feel like talking to each other.

  
“Your aim is off. You move around too much.”

  
“Don’t lecture me! I know what I’m doing.”

  
Jack — the one that the world called Big Boss off the field and Naked Snake when he was on it — smiled and shook his head ruefully, as though he was dealing with a child and not an ex-KGB soldier. Ocelot had half the mind to glare, but he knew that it would only amuse the older man. The blond focused his anger on the target in front of him instead. A full year had already passed, but he hadn’t managed to master the ricocheting as much as he would have wanted to.

  
“Let me help you with that.”

  
The only warning Ocelot had received was the sudden stink of Cuban cigars wafting up from somewhere close, but it wasn’t enough to prepare him for the realization that Jack was standing right behind him, reaching around and guiding his arms and legs with his own. A quick glance revealed Jack’s profile looming dizzyingly close to his face. Why such a grizzled and foul-mouthed soldier made his knees go weak, he did not know. He told himself it was the cigarette smoke.

  
“You have to reduce the movement, Adam,” Jack murmured. He demonstrated what he meant by using Ocelot as his puppet. “Everything must be calculated. Maybe… if you moved a little like _this_ instead…”

  
A comeback was in order, but Ocelot was too busy trying to stay calm to bother with it. Jack, of course, did not seem to notice. Ocelot was only too thankful for the fact that the man eventually stepped away, and gestured for him to try it with a wave of his cigar. For the rest of the afternoon and the evening to come, Ocelot would remember what it felt like to have the man pressed against his back, speaking words soft and low into his ear.  



End file.
